“He could have made that awful phone call before he came to the shop.”
“True. Or it could have been someone else.”
“Right, but I’m onto something, don’t you think?”
“I think you should leave this to the professionals.”
I shook my head. “Can’t do that.” I pulled Ginger onto my lap and started petting her.
Jackson sighed deeply. “Okay, then, like I said at the estate this afternoon, you need protecting. When are you heading up there tomorrow?”
“Noon.”
“I’ll be there at eight. Be sure you check in with me when you get there.” He opened his book and started reading.
I picked up my phone and looked at my notes about the job tomorrow. I realized that MJ had not told me what she needed specifically in terms of treatments. “What do you think about MJ? Is she really a psychic?”
Jackson put his book down. “MJ seems nice, yes, but a psychic, no. It’s all a sham.”
“So you don’t believe in ghosts?”
“There is always a rational explanation for everything.”
I thought about the chandelier flickering, the whispering noises, and that book flying off the shelf. I didn’t answer him right away.
“What? Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts?” Jackson chuckled.
“I think we’re foolish if we believe that everything we see is all that exists. I told you about that weird vibe I got from the estate. I’m starting to think MJ’s right. It’s residual spiritual energy. Why couldn’t it take the form of a ghost?”
“I’ll believe it when I see it, and that is not going to happen. I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree, McQuade.” He put his book on the night table and reached for me. “Come here.”
I picked up Ginger and put her at the foot of the bed, turned off the light, and rolled over to him and gave him a kiss. “Agreed, Spade.”
chapter nine
Dr. Willow McQuade’s Healthy Living Tips
I always stop and smell the roses by the front walk of Nature’s Way Market and Café. I love the rich, sweet floral bouquet and the approximately 275 compounds, which have a myriad of therapeutic uses. For example, if you apply it topically, rose oil can help banish eczema, wrinkles, and acne. If you feel blue, rose essential oil will naturally lift your mood. If you have painful periods, it helps to balance hormones (just put the oil on a warm compress and apply to your lower abdomen). Rose oil also eases nervousness, anxiety, anger, sadness, and grief and can be helpful if you have respiratory problems such as allergies and hay fever. You also use rose oil to help you sleep better and feel happier. For all these conditions, simply put some on your palm and inhale it or put rose essential oil into a diffuser. Your bedroom will smell like an English garden.
Yours Naturally,
Dr. McQuade
I clocked about an hour or so of sleep. Every time I began to drift off, my mind kicked into gear and I reviewed what I’d found out so far. What exactly did any of it mean? I would start by picking up the mysterious photos from the camera that Qigong found.
Tuesday morning I headed downstairs and found Wallace, my new store assistant, in the kitchen, making a stack of organic blueberry pancakes. Two tables were occupied in the café.
“Hi, Wallace. Those look really good.” My stomach was grumbling.
He put a pancake on a plate, added a pat of butter and some syrup, and pushed it over to me. “Enjoy.”
I grabbed a fork and took a bite. Yummy. “So, how are things going?”
“Pretty good. I’m scrambling a bit since Merrily isn’t feeling well.”
This was surprising. Merrily hadn’t been sick since I’d taken over the store in June. “What’s wrong? Did she say?”
He shook his head. “No, but I told her I could handle things.”
“I can help you until I have to leave to go to the Bixby estate. I just need to run out for a few minutes right now.” I wanted to see those photos ASAP.
“That would be great. But don’t rush. I’ll be okay.”
I thanked him, clipped the leash onto Qigong’s collar, and headed out. It was another beautiful day on the East End, sunny with blue skies and no clouds in sight. I took the crosswalk to the south side of the street and walked down Front Street, past the park, a seafood bistro, the bookstore, the florist shop, and the bakery to the photo shop.
I couldn’t wait until we got home to look at the photos. When I reached the park, I sat down, and while Qigong sniffed the grass, I opened the packet.
The first few shots were of the beach in front of the estate, the dock, and the boat. The rest were taken from the dock and included shots of the beach, the stairs, the retaining wall, and the mansion. No people were in the photographs, and none of them seemed to have been taken for artistic effect or sentimental memories, and they weren’t slick enough for something like a real estate ad. So why would someone take these particular shots? Then I realized—they were all taken in the area where Roger’s body was found. What if they were surveillance photos taken by the murderer, part of a planning stage when he or she was considering the best place to kill Roger Bixby?
The rest of the roll was blank. I opened the top of the packet to put them back inside, but as I did I noticed one that I’d missed because it was stuck to the back of a shot of the dock. Prying it loose, I saw that it was a close-up of the first edition of Agatha Christie’s Moving Finger, the book I’d seen yesterday. Had Roger photographed it—as an example of what he had to sell? Or was someone else planning on cashing in after Roger was dead?
Across the street, I noticed more people heading into Nature’s Way. I put my thoughts about Roger’s murder on the back burner and went inside to help Wallace. I grabbed my apron, picked up some menus, and seated the two couples who had just arrived. As I put the menus down, I noticed Simon at a corner table by the window. A half-eaten plate of pancakes was next to his laptop. He hadn’t shaved and looked gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes.
“Hey, Simon,” I said, sitting down across from him. “How are you doing this morning?”
He closed the cover of his laptop. “Not good. My lawyer checked in with Detective Koren, and he said that I am still a person of interest and he’ll want to question me again. Though, of course, he doesn’t know when.”
“Your lawyer said that would probably happen.”
“I just want this to be over.” He took a sip of his coffee, and I saw a slight tremble in his hand. I wasn’t sure if that was too much caffeine or too much stress. “I’m trying to work, but I just can’t concentrate, and this script for my episode is due Friday. They want me to come out next week to supervise the shooting and editing, but I can’t leave town.”
I pulled out the packet of photos. “Simon, I want you to look at something.” I set the photos on top of his closed laptop. “I found these, or rather Qigong did, on the beach at the estate. Do they mean anything to you?”
He went through the pictures one by one. “It’s just photos of the beach.” He pointed to a spot on the shore. “This is where I found Roger.”
“Anything else?”
He pointed to a spot on the dock. “That looks like Carly’s sweater and sunglasses. See?” He handed the photo to me and pointed to a red sweater and oversize, expensive-looking sunglasses. “So maybe she took the photos. But she has a really good digital camera that I gave her, so probably not.”
I wondered if Carly had taken the photos and what, if anything, that meant. As far as I knew, the divorce from Roger hadn’t been finalized, which meant she was still technically his widow. Was she selling the first editions? I thought about Mrs. Florrick’s saying that Carly was the one who pushed Roger to sell the estate, that she wanted half of everything. Had she killed Roger to inherit it all? I decided to do the tactless thing and ask.
“Simon, please don’t take this the wrong way, but is there any chance that Carly killed Roger so she could inherit the house and the estate?”
Simon snorted with laughter. “Are you serious? The place is a shambles, and Max had mortgaged it up to the hilt. Even if Carly did inherit it, all she’d be inheriting is debt. Besides, Carly was never trying to get money from Roger. She’s a trust-fund baby. If you want my opinion, Roger married her for her money.”
“Good to know.” If Simon—and not Mrs. Florrick—was right, it didn’t totally eliminate Carly as a suspect, but it might rule out money as a motive.
“Besides,” Simon went on, “Carly still has feelings for the guy. She didn’t want to be married to him anymore, but she never wanted any harm to come to him. I mean, she’s even got a soft spot for Tom, and he’s a walking disaster.”
“That’s what I’ve seen, too.” Carly might have a prickly side, but so far she wasn’t the most likely candidate for a killer.
I looked up to see a family of five take a table. “I’d better go help Wallace. Catch you later.”
For the next two hours on Tuesday morning, I forgot about the photos, and Wallace and I served a steady stream of customers. I’d just dropped off my last plate of organic buckwheat waffles with honey and fresh peaches when Nick, Aunt Claire’s former boyfriend, came in. He wore a black, V-neck, short-sleeved shirt, black yoga pants, and orange Crocs. He looked healthy and at peace.
It was quite a transformation. Devastated by Claire’s death, Nick had reverted to old bad habits, such as drinking to excess. I’d confronted him and told him to seek help. He took my advice and returned to his Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. Today, his yoga classes at Nature’s Way were more popular than ever. He was a wonderful teacher, thoughtful, intuitive, and kind.
He came over to me and hugged me. “How are you, sweetie?”
“I’m okay. Are you all ready to go to the Bixby estate?”
“I’ve always been curious about that place, but I never thought I’d be teaching there. It should be interesting.”
“I need to tell you something. Sunday night, one of the producers, Roger Bixby, was murdered.” I explained what had happened and that I was trying to help Simon.
Nick shook his head. “I always used to think this area was such a haven, so safe, but two murders in less than six months?”
“They’re not related.”
”Still, you’re the one I’m worried about. Do you think you should be involved? You’ve already been through a lot with your aunt Claire’s death, and the murderer could be anywhere on that estate.”
“I think we’ll be safe. Jackson will be providing security for the production, and Hector has a black belt in karate, and you are a tai chi master.”
“At your service,” Nick said, bowing to me.
“Plus, the cottage that will be our home base is a good distance from the mansion. You can hold your classes under a beautiful oak tree.”
“Okay. I just need to get some mats, blankets, bolsters, and straps to bring up there.”
“I need to gather products to place in the rooms and for the guests to use.” I also needed to bring horse-chestnut cream for Mrs. Florrick’s varicose veins. “I’ll meet you out back by the van in twenty minutes.”
We arrived at the estate at noon. I stopped at the guard booth and gave the man Nick’s, Allie’s, and Hector’s names so they would be allowed onto the estate. Then I rolled up and parked the Nature’s Way van next to Carly’s BMW. The estate was abuzz with activity. Crew members hustled into the mansion carrying cameras, light stands, lights, and cables. Production staff scurried from the trailers into the house and back again. But the police were not here today.
I texted Jackson and told him that we were there, and moments later he rounded the mansion and came over to us. He looked fine in his black Galaxy T-shirt, jeans, and boots. He shook hands with Nick and gave me a kiss.
“How are things going? Is Tom causing trouble yet?”
“He’s out doing something for Rick, so it’s been nice and quiet so far.” Jackson pulled four ID badges from his pocket that matched the one he wore around his neck and handed them to me. “Here are the badges for the whole team.” I gave one to Nick, who put it around his neck. “Yours is all-access so you can snoop everywhere. I have something else for you.” Jackson pulled a small walkie-talkie out of his back pocket. “I’ve got one and so do Rick and Amanda, so we’ll always be in constant communication. Of course you can send me a text or call, too. I’m going to do a sweep of the estate every hour. That way I can keep an eye on you and keep everyone safe.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” I put my badge around my neck and the others in my pocket. Nick’s phone rang and he stepped away to take the call.
“Have you heard from Simon?”
“Yes, he ate breakfast in the café. Jackson, he’s in pretty bad shape. His lawyer found out that Detective Koren isn’t done with him yet. He definitely wants to see him again.”
“No surprise there.”
“And I picked these up.” I opened the packet and handed him the photos. When he got to the one with the sunglasses and the red sweater, I told him that they were Carly’s.
Jackson raised one eyebrow. “Do you think she was scouting the area before she killed Roger?”
“Not really.” I told him what Simon had said. I scanned the lawn. “Is Rick around, so I can check in with him, too? I need to start setting up.”
Jackson got him on his walkie-talkie. Minutes later, Rick walked out of the yellow-and-white tent and headed for us, with Amanda trailing him.
“Thanks for coming,” Rick said. “I’ve asked Amanda to help you out.”
“Good. I have a sign-up sheet that I’ll leave with you.” I handed Amanda a clipboard with the sign-up sheet. “This way people can sign up with you, and you can e-mail me the names and the appointment times.”
“Okay.” Amanda scanned the sheet.
“I made an announcement at breakfast and lunch and told the crew and the production staff to make their appointments for the afternoon, before we shoot at seven p.m.,” Rick said. “It looks like it’s going to be night shoots all week long.”
“Why is that?” Jackson asked.
Rick shrugged. “ ’Cause MJ says so. She thinks that she’ll have better luck connecting with the spirit world at night.” He turned to Amanda. “Darlin’, can you please go get a cart and drive them to that cottage next to ours?”
“Sure thing.” She swiveled on her heel and walked rapidly away.
Rick said to Jackson, “Before MJ sets foot inside, I want to go over the entire house with you and Pierre, our director. We need to know what we’re dealing with in terms of rooms, windows, light and shots and any safety issues.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Jackson said.
“So MJ hasn’t been inside yet?” I asked.
Rick shook his head. “Course not. She always goes in fresh. The show doesn’t work unless we get her spontaneous reaction to the mansion—and its inhabitants.”
I was curious. “What happens if MJ doesn’t find any ghosts or spirits?”
“Hasn’t happened yet.” Rick winked at me. “We choose our locations carefully.”
Jackson turned to me. “I’ll check in with you in a bit.”
“Can you give this to Mrs. Florrick since you’re going that way?” I pulled the horse-chestnut cream out of my bag and handed it to him.
“No problem.” He and Rick headed for the mansion.
Amanda pulled up in the golf cart and we loaded the stuff from the van in the back, and Nick and I and Qigong got in the front. We took off, zipping along the bulkhead, salty breeze blowing through our hair.
“Thanks for doing this, Amanda. I hope that you’ll come over for a treatment, as a thank-you,” I said.
“I’d like that. Maybe even a massage.”
Something in her tone bothered me, and I realized that when we’d first met her, she’d been upbeat, efficient. Today she sounded brittle, on edge. “Are you okay?”
“No, not really. I miss Roger. He could be super-obnoxious, but he had a g
ood side, too. He was much better one-on-one than in a crowd.” I shot a look at Nick. Did she mean professionally or personally?
She turned the wheel and expertly swerved between two huge maple trees on either side of the dirt path. She increased her speed. Up ahead were two even more enormous oak trees with spreading foliage. She put her foot on the pedal and headed for the space between them. We’d just whizzed past a towering birch tree when, with a tremendous cracking sound, a huge branch fell from the tree. It missed the golf cart by inches.
Amanda put her foot on the brake and we all lurched forward. Fortunately Nick was holding Qigong tightly. Amanda started hyperventilating and tears ran down her cheeks. “It’s happening again! I can’t work this way!”
“What’s happening again?”
“Ever since we got here on Saturday there have been these weird accidents. A chandelier crashed to the floor in the grand ballroom. I-I was in the downstairs bathroom this morning, and when I washed my hands in the sink, the mirror over it cracked right down the middle. And the whispering sounds . . . they’re all through the house now, not just in the library.”
“I heard those whispers, too,” I said. But I hadn’t known about the chandelier and the mirror.
“Sounds like it’s haunted,” Nick said. “That should be good for your show.”
“I don’t care about that.” Amanda’s voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “I hate it here. I told Roger this was a bad idea, but he wanted to come. I mean, my God! There’s a murderer on the loose!”
An assistant was giving the executive producer location advice? That didn’t sound right, unless she was having an affair with Roger. Was she the reason Carly had divorced him? And was Amanda what Tom was using to blackmail Roger? But what I said was “Try to calm down. Take a few deep breaths.”
Scent to Kill: A Natural Remedies Mystery (Natural Remedies Mysteries) Page 9
